


trapped inside a role of disillusion

by laszlokreizlers



Series: coming clean [2]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alex centric, Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Panic Attacks, Religious Guilt, Secret Relationship, background willex as in it is not the focus, catholic alex, like. graphic panic attack.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28418709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laszlokreizlers/pseuds/laszlokreizlers
Summary: “You’re so pretty,” Luke says, his head propped up on his head as Alex stands up and stretches next to him. Luke’s shirt is too small for Alex, and even without his stretching, a good two inches of his abdomen show between the hem of the shirt and the waistband of the PJs, and Luke has been staring at it since he woke up.Alex feels his face heat up and he knows he’s turned red. “Shut up.” There's no power behind it, and they both know it.“You are!” Alex kneels in front of Luke, letting him slide his hands up from Alex’s hips, over his waist and under his shirt, back down before pulling him in for a kiss. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs against his lips. “You’re... perfect."(Part two of Coming Clean. Can be read as a standalone.)
Relationships: Alex Mercer/Luke Patterson (Julie and The Phantoms), Background Alex Mercer/Willie
Series: coming clean [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930015
Comments: 24
Kudos: 88





	trapped inside a role of disillusion

**Author's Note:**

> Me, opening google docs: I am going to create something that is so self indulgent....  
>  **content warning: this fic majorly deals with religious guilt, specifically catholic guilt, around being lgbt. this subject is incredibly important to me, so please refrain from commenting any negativity about catholicism or any religion. if anyone is dealing with religious issues, know that i love you and God loves you. there are also many mentions and depictions of anxiety and panic attacks. do not read if this will trigger you or make you uncomfortable. stay safe.**  
>  title from coming clean by green day.  
> before the last names were confirmed, i used Callahan as alex's last name. i call him alex callahan in this fic, and i will for any other fics in the coming clean universe.

There’s something incredibly peculiar about the combination of Catholic guilt and natural anxiety. It combines on top of each other, over and over, until that bubble of tension in your chest bursts. Until you’re hunched over on the floor, breathing fast and shallow, frantically praying at two am,  _ Please, God, make it stop. Make it stop hurting.  _

  
  
  


Alex’s first panic attack comes when he’s 14, and he kissed a girl for the first time, but he wishes it was a boy. And that can’t be right. It doesn’t add up. He’s hyperventilating in the bathroom with a rosary in his hands, trying frantically to remember what Wednesday’s mysteries are, saying Hail Mary’s like his life depends on it, desperately wanting to know  _ why him _ , and all he can do is wait for it to stop, wait to breathe again, wait to reset and go back to bed. 

The older he gets, the more he gets them. It’s more of a minor inconvenience now rather than the debilitating pain they were before, and he knows how to work through them and even prevent them if he catches it early enough, but almost every method involves prayer and a rosary. Even if he’s not praying the actual rosary, the feeling of the beads under his fingers, the rhythmic chanting of ten Hail Mary’s and an Our Father over and over, brings breath back into his lungs and his mind back to his body.

It’s a twisted joke- part of why he feels that way is because of God, and one of the only ways to pull himself out of it is prayer. 

  
  
  


He’s gay. He’s known for a while, but admitting it to himself sends him reeling, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to handle it.

Well, logically, he knows that he’s supposed to tell people and try his best not to get himself killed because of it, but that’s terrifying. He’s 16 years old. He’s a  _ kid _ . The idea of telling anyone scares him more than actually being gay. It’s worse when he thinks about the church. How he’d never be let in. The Bible is clear on that- Leviticus, Sodom and Gomorrah, Genesis- but the Bible is also clear on loving thy neighbor and everyone being created in God’s image. And Catholics stick to that before they stick to hate. But Catholics lie, and even though they’ll tell him that they love the sinner and hate the sin, he knows that they’d get home from service and start praying for his salvation and talk about the poor Callahan family, did you hear that their youngest turned out gay? 

So telling his family- that’s out of the question. Telling anyone at church- obviously not.

Telling his friends… that’s the only idea he lets himself think about. None of them have been outwardly homophobic- hell, Luke’s favorite band is Nirvana- but when Alex opens his mouth to say something, to call a band meeting and say it out loud, he freezes up. Feels the wave of panic rise in his chest. His hands fly up to the cross around his neck, and Luke asks if he’s okay, and he’s not. He hasn’t been for a while. But he lies, squeaks out an “I’m fine,” and plays so hard his sticks begin to splinter. 

He goes home and sleeps with the rosary wrapped around his fist, the cold metal of the crucifix digging into the palm of his hand. 

  
  
  


He spends his 17th birthday surrounded by family and unable to breathe, and no amount of praying helps this time. He begs his mother to drive him to the studio, and after she complains about how mad his grandparents will be, she finally drops him off. He’s hitting his sticks together before he’s even in the door, blowing past any pretense of pretending he’s okay and wailing on the drums, loud angry hits with no real beat. His sticks, already beat up, begin to splinter in his hands, but he keeps hitting and hitting, breaking and breaking, even as he hears someone shout, “Hey! Alex!” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the familiar stripes of Luke’s ugliest jacket, but he doesn’t let up. He can’t let up. 

Luke grabs his wrists, and Alex instantly stills, a combination of the sudden sensation and the fear of hurting Luke and the breath on the back of his neck. His shoulders slump forward, and he realizes just how exhausted he is. He lets his sticks drop with a clatter. “You can let go now,” he says, his voice flat and ragged with exhaustion. Luke drops his hands and steps away, letting Alex stand up, roll his shoulders, and process what’s happening around him. Luke is watching him, worry in his eyes, and Reggie and Bobby are standing in the doorway like they’re waiting for it to be safe to come in. 

“Come on, Alex, what’s up?” Luke says quietly, and his eyes are saying  _ Please, trust me. Please, let me help you. _

He won’t keep it in anymore. He  _ can’t _ keep it in anymore. “I think I’m gay,” he says, so quiet he can barely hear himself, and then he shakes his head. “I’m gay.” It’s a little louder, but he can still barely hear it over the pounding of his heart and the roar in his ears, and his legs shake and he sits down on his stool, fingers automatically moving to his necklace and rubbing it fiercely.

He’s not sure he’s said it loud enough until Luke quietly says, “Okay,” and squats down in front of him. “Okay,” he says again, tapping the back of Alex’s hand until he stops staring into space and looks at him. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Reggie pipes up as he walks over, Bobby trailing behind him. “Freddy Mercury was gay. I think.” He looks at Bobby, who shrugs. They both stay a few feet away, but Luke is right there with Alex. 

He can’t hold his gaze on Luke, and his eyes drift to a point somewhere over his right shoulder as his breathing starts to pick up, and he knows one of those awful attacks are coming. The hand clutching the crucifix on his necklace drops, and he taps the pad of his thumb to the tips of his fingers, silently trying to count off the ten Hail Mary’s as his thoughts become dizzying. 

“Alex, what’s up?” Luke says, but his voice sounds like he’s underwater. “Hey, hey. Alex, it’s okay.” His voice drops to something so soft only Alex can hear it. “Come back to me.” He starts to rub soothing circles on Alex’s back, and the combination of the pressure of his hand and the immediate guilt relief from the prayer brings Alex back into his body. 

_ Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. _

He crosses himself hastily and sits still, letting his heart slow down and his brain stop misfiring. 

But no part of his body rests until Luke takes his hand off his back.

  
  
  


He doesn’t know what draws him to Luke. They’ve always been a band that hugged and put arms over shoulders and held hands, but it’s different with Luke.

It’s  _ electric _ with Luke. 

The first time that spark ignites, Luke’s angrily slamming the door of his house and angrily storming down his driveway and angrily jumping into Alex’s crappy car. “Where to?” Alex asks, his voice level and calm.

“Freaking anywhere.” The rage is radiating off of Luke in waves, and he stares straight ahead, not daring to look at his house. Alex tears off, the tires squealing and the engine groaning, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s always more to these moods. Always pain and sadness behind the anger. Alex has picked up the pieces of Luke’s explosions enough times to see all the signs.

This time, he’s completely silent. And that worries Alex more than anything.

Luke doesn’t have anything with him- no shoes, no jacket, no wallet- so Alex pays for the cheapest burgers he can find, pulling into the drive-thru and parking so they can eat. Luke grumbles out a “Thank you,” but other than that, still nothing. 

Alex turns the radio to Luke’s favorite station and lets him stew silently as a guitar-heavy Zeppelin song blares in the background. Everything he does is angry. The way he eats, the way he taps his fingers to the beat, the way he wipes his face and hands when he’s finished. Even the way he sits, like he’s ready to bust out of the car at any second, is full of venom. 

And Alex  _ hates _ it. He hates seeing Luke like this, so full of hurt and with no way to express it other than the violent way he snatches hand sanitizer out of Alex’s hands and scrubs his own together. Alex sighs, turning his head and looking out the driver’s side window at the surprisingly long line of cars in line for midnight cheeseburgers until he feels calloused fingertips brush the side of his face. He turns his head as Luke brushes the hair out of his face, and their eyes meet for a split second. 

His heart fills with want, and immediately, the guilt replaces it.

This is a boy. Not just any boy. This is his best friend. He shouldn’t be looking into his eyes to see if they’re flashing the same feelings Alex’s are, and he  _ definitely  _ shouldn’t be reaching for his hand like it's a lifeline.

But he does. Luke’s eyes flicker with an emotion that Alex can’t figure out, and he lets their fingers link together, holding tightly and taking deep breaths. 

Maybe it’s a lifeline for both of them.

Luke settles down, but neither of them move to let go of each other. Alex shifts into drive with his left hand and slowly drives them back to Luke’s house. 

He squeezes his hand and murmurs, “Good luck,” before letting go. 

That ache of want returns as he watches Luke jog up the driveway and over to the side of his house, but the guilt returns too. His hand fumbles for the cross around his neck, and he rubs it frantically as he begs God for forgiveness for what he’s just done. 

Lord, he knows that You love him. Lord, he knows that holding hands and having feelings isn’t a sin. But, God help him, the fear of being wrong about those things cripples him, and he feels like he can’t breathe. 

He wishes Luke hadn’t gotten out of the car. He wishes he was there to rub his back and ask Alex to come back to him. Instead, he takes shaky breaths and taps the tips of his fingers to his thumb as he prays. 

  
  
  


A guy- a  _ very cute _ guy, with perfect hair and pale green eyes and muscular thighs- is flirting with him, and yet Alex can’t stop looking at Luke, dancing with the loud redhead who was trying to flirt with Alex. She’s dancing so close to him, like she’s trying to make them one person, and Alex forces himself to look away when she starts whispering in Luke’s ear. He finishes his beer and almost goes to get another, but one look at Bobby’s flushed face and crazy antics keep him in his seat. 

The cute guy is shooed away in the middle of a sentence by Reggie, insisting it’s time to go home, and it takes both of them thirty minutes to load the instruments into the van. It takes longer to get Bobby in shotgun. Alex slides in the back seat, watching as Luke tears himself away from his dance partner and jumps in next to Alex. He slams the door shut and slaps the side of Reggie’s seat before leaning back and letting out a loud sigh of relief. “She was… persistent.” He looks at Alex and grins. “You’re so lucky I handled her for you.” 

They lock eyes for a second before busting up in laughter that they can’t seem to stop. Reggie rolls his eyes in the mirror, and Bobby is passed out, and nothing’s funny, not really, but giggling in the backseat together is the best Alex has felt in a while. He reaches over and intertwines his fingers with Luke’s, squeezing gently and settling down from the giggle fit. He doesn’t want to let go, but it takes everyone to get Bobby in his house silently. He doesn’t reach back over either, even when Luke sits next to him in the backseat again, even when Reggie yawns and looks distracted.

Luke tenses suddenly as Reggie turns a corner, and takes a minute to figure out. 

He doesn’t want to go back home. 

Luke would never admit it. He’s too proud. But he always gets nervous after gigs, not wanting to risk fighting. Alex curses himself for not figuring it out quicker and nudges him gently. “Hey. Want to stay with me tonight?”

Luke relaxes instantly. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” He smiles at him, a different smile than earlier, and Alex reaches for his hand again. 

“Driver,” Alex announces in a dramatically snobby voice, “straight to my house.”

“I’m making you pay for gas,” Reggie says. It’s a common threat that he never follows through on. “This time I mean it.”

Alex just laughs, absently plays with Luke’s fingers, and looks out the window at the houses passing by. 

They hold back laughter as they tumble into Alex’s room and Luke flops onto the bed, smiling at the ceiling. Alex lies next to him, rolling on his side and watching as Luke’s chest rises and falls, his eyes closing.

On impulse, Alex leans over and kisses him on the cheek. It’s quick and it’s light, but Alex still flushes bright red and turns on his other side, terrified to see the reaction. 

But it’s silent- Luke must be asleep. Thank God. He curses himself internally, and he wishes he could blame it on the alcohol, but the slight buzz wore off ages ago. There’s no reason for what he did. 

He doesn’t speak to Luke for three days. Just to be safe. To avoid questions. To avoid the shame. 

They see each other at rehearsal, and Luke doesn’t bring it up. Alex is glad he’s in the clear, but there’s still the lingering question of  _ why _ ? Why did he do it? Why does he want to do it again, bring it further, kiss Luke until his lips are numb? 

He shakes off the thoughts, tries to get through practice without saying something stupid, and bolts as soon as they’re done.

  
  
  


One of the only benefits of being the youngest child of six is that his oldest brother is nearly 30, financially stable, and knows Alex well enough to get him some actual cool Christmas gifts- one of which, slipped to him secretly as everyone goes home, is two tickets to a Green Day concert in San Francisco. Alex, for some reason, asks Luke to go with him. It’s kind of a slap in the face to Bobby, whose favorite band is Green Day, but the smile on Luke’s face makes Alex flush and stumble over his words. It’s a wonder he manages to get out the date and time.

Luke reads on the drive up to pass the time, and his voice, soft and sweet, relaxes Alex, makes him want to hold his hand and tell him his secrets. The book is over way too soon, but Luke’s chattering continues. His voice is bright, full of excitement, absently talking about how he’s had it good these last few weeks. “Not a single argument,” he says, almost proud of it, and Alex smiles, but there’s a little kick of jealousy.

Luke’s family troubles come from his parents knowing everything. There’s no secrets in the Patterson house, no matter how much they hurt each other. Alex has been keeping the biggest secret possible from his parents for months and years, and hiding it has made his relationship with his parents’ fray under the stress. 

“I, uh.” He starts and stops quickly, wanting to overthink, but that only causes problems. “I’m thinking about telling my parents that I’m….” He trails off. Even in his car, with just him and his best friend, it still feels unsafe to say out loud. Like someone's going to hear and report back. “I mean, I prayed about it, and I felt like God was okay with it. But my parents might not be. And church… definitely not.” He fiddles with the crucifix on his necklace with one hand and keeps his eyes trained on the road. “I mean, they’re Catholics, so they’ll hate you and lie to your face about it, but I don’t know if that’s better or worse than them just being flat out… awful.” He exhales and inhales deeply, trying to keep his anxiety under control, and out of the corner of his eye, Luke is putting his hand palm up on the center console. Alex holds it like a lifeline, thanking God that Luke is there to hold him and cursing himself for leaning into the comfort of Luke’s touch, until he has to park. He pulls away as slowly as possible, feeling the rough tips of Luke’s fingers trail across his palm, and as they unbuckle, lock the car, and walk toward the venue, he reaches out for his hand again, but pulls his hand away, shoves it in his pocket, doesn’t say a word.

The seats are awful, and Alex can barely see- which means Luke can’t see at all. But no one's complaining, and he loses himself in the music, screaming along at the top of his lungs and dancing. He looks over at Luke, who's smiling gently and looking at him. Alex’s heart skips a beat, and Luke reaches up to move Alex’s hair out of his face, and he feels like he’s on fire. He allows himself this moment, just one second in time, to pretend that this is real, that Luke wants him the same way he wants Luke, before he turns away, back to the show and the lights and the spectacle, the fire never leaving his veins.

He puts his arms around Luke’s shoulders on the walk back to the car, and he might be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure Luke is leaning in, pressing himself against Alex’s side just slightly. Alex doesn't trust his imagination, and he moves away to let Luke into the car and flops down in his seat, not making a move to leave. Instead, his hands move to his necklace, rubbing the cross between his fingers and praying for strength to keep himself from confessing his feelings. “Luke… I had a lot of fun tonight. Thank you for coming with me.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Luke says, suddenly, like he doesn’t mean to, “Can I kiss you?” Alex’s hands freeze. Luke is silent for a second before it registers what he’s said, and frantically, apologies start tumbling out. “I mean- God- We don’t- we don’t have to if you don’t want. I’m so sorry.”

“No! No,” Alex exclaims, and he takes his hand off his necklace and puts it on Luke’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Luke…” He starts to lean in, trying not to overthink for once in his life, and carefully, he kisses his best friend. It doesn’t feel like the crime he once thought it to be- it’s sweet and it's gentle. But then he overthinks it. Because there’s no way this is real, no way that Luke Patterson, who can and does get every girl he’s ever wanted, who’s fearless and full of life, wants to kiss Alex Callahan, who’s always the afterthought and last to be invited, always the anxious annoyance.

He pulls away, just a bit. “Wait.” It comes out as a breath.

Luke pulls away. “What’s up?” he asks, his voice even and betraying no emotion.

It worries Alex more. “I just…” He sighs, looks straight ahead for a second, and back at Luke. “This isn’t just you experimenting, right? Using your gay friend to figure yourself out?” His voice shakes, and he clears his throat, trying to hide it.

Luke laughs. 

_ Guess that answers that. _ Alex quickly moves his hand off Luke’s shoulder and looks out his window, unwilling to betray any emotions. 

“No, Alex…” his voice is soft, apologetic. “Hey. Come on, man, look at me.” Alex drags his gaze over, and his shoulders slump. “I’m not- God, I’ve had a crush on you for. Months.” He slips his hand in Alex’s. “You were never just an experiment.” 

Alex just looks, and looks, and looks, not wanting to forget this moment, before he slides his hand through Luke’s hair, cupping the back of his head, and pulls him towards him again, letting all the fear go and relishing in the feeling of being wanted. 

  
  
  


Luke asks him out on a real date a week later, after Alex has pulled him unceremoniously onto his bed, kissing him in between laughs. Luke whispers the question against Alex’s lips. “Can I take you out on Friday?” Alex pulls back- does Luke not remember that no one knows about them?- and raises his eyebrows in question. Luke laughs slightly, awkwardly, trying to soothe Alex’s nerves. “Just to a movie and dinner. Like we usually do. But I'll pay.” He brushes the hair away from Alex’s face for the millionth time that day. It never stays out of his face, but Luke always tries. “Please?”

Alex sighs like it’s a tough sell, but the smile on his face betrays his excitement. “Oh, fine.”

Luke grins before pulling him back in. 

  
  
  


They don’t fool around in the theater- it’s just a little too public for comfort- and though the waitress gives Luke a strange look when he says he’s paying for both dinners- although that could be because he’s wearing that grungy, paint-stained duster he loves- their date goes by undetected.

They end up back at Luke’s house, sneaking into his room and keeping their voices low as Luke kisses up the column of Alex’s throat and across his jaw before Alex pulls him to his lips, cupping Luke’s face in his hands and holding him close as he kisses him slowly. 

“What are we?” Alex asks, the question nothing more than a breath against Luke’s lips. 

He pulls Alex in again, kisses him once, pulls back, and smiles. “Last time someone came to my house after a date, they were calling me their boyfriend.” 

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“Do you want me to be?”

Alex kisses him again as a response, and Luke pulls him down on the bed, holding him close, and smiling bigger than he ever has. 

  
  
  


The other benefit of being the youngest of six- unless he sets the house on fire, his parents don’t dole out punishments anymore. So when they find out about the concert, Alex is far more worried about Luke than he is about himself. He leaves his window open, and at dinner, the muffled  _ thump  _ of it slamming shut lets him know that his worries were accurate. His parents pay no mind, still caught up in their chatter about work drama, and wave Alex off absently when he asks to be excused, not noticing the extra food he puts on his plate before he rushes upstairs.

He pushes the door open carefully, the stream of light from the hallway slowly lighting the room and illuminating a lump under his cover and a mess of dark hair on his pillow. “Luke?” he says softly, gently, and the lump stirs slightly. He sets the plate down on the nightstand and sits next to Luke, squeezing his shoulder and sighing. “It’s going to be okay,” he says softly. “We’ll get through this.”

They just sit for a while, quietly, Alex gently rubbing Luke’s back as he cries quietly. Eventually, the silent, shuddering sobs turn into shaky exhales and then to deep breaths. Alex shakes his head, leans over to kiss the top of his head, and curls up next to him, watching him breathe until he slowly falls asleep.

  
  
  


Luke is only there for a few days before he moves into the studio, sleeping on a futon and living off of leftovers Alex brings over, but even when he’s only making his money from the measly tips from shows and dropping out of school and hiding away, he’s the happiest and most carefree Alex has ever seen him. 

But Alex is dying. He’s happy for Luke, of course he is, but all he wants is that freedom, that feeling of being carefree, of not worrying about what his parents are going to think of him.

The thought of his parents rejecting him is crushing him, the fear eating him alive. He doesn’t know how much longer he can live like this. 

He stays with Luke when it gets too much to handle, and they have a standing date for Sundays so he can relax, but it’s not enough. 

He has to tell his parents.

  
  
  


He doesn’t take anything when he leaves. He puts on his shoes and bolts, ignoring his mother calling out for him and his father’s threats if he doesn’t come back to the house that instant. He doesn’t even realize it’s storming until he’s walked halfway to the studio and the tears he’s been wiping out of his eyes have turned into rain and the roar of blood in his ears has been replaced by the claps of thunder. 

He climbs over the fence on the side of the studio and knocks on the side door, rubbing his arms as Luke opens the door, sleepy and confused. “Alex? What’s going on?” He shakes his head slightly and leans forward, burying his face in the crook of Luke’s neck and letting his arms fall to the side. Luke wraps his arms around Alex’s waist and holds him for a while, stumbling backward and pulling Alex out of the rain. Eventually, Luke lets go of him, pushing the hair out of his face as he stands up. “What’s wrong?” he asks again, the worry clear in his voice.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he responds quietly. Luke moves his hand from Alex’s hair to his cheek, and Alex turns his face into it slightly.

“Okay,” Luke says quietly. “Come on. Let’s get you dried off. You must be freezing.”

He showers and changes into the clothes Luke put outside the door- a pair of pajama pants Alex left a few weeks ago and a muscle t-shirt of Luke’s- and shakes out his hair before walking out to see Luke, already asleep on the couch. It makes him smile a little before he climbs up to the loft and lays on the awful futon and drifts off. 

  
  
  


The storm has cleared by morning, and morning light is sweeping through the window and lighting everything warm and gold. “You’re so pretty,” Luke says, his head propped up on his head as Alex stands up and stretches next to him. Luke’s shirt is too small for Alex, and even without his stretching, a good two inches of his abdomen show between the hem of the shirt and the waistband of the PJs, and Luke has been staring at it since he woke up.

Alex feels his face heat up and he knows he’s turned red. “Shut up.” There's no power behind it, and they both know it.

“You are!” Alex kneels in front of Luke, letting him slide his hands up from Alex’s hips, over his waist and under his shirt, back down before pulling him in for a kiss. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs against his lips. “You’re...  _ perfect _ .” Alex inhales sharply at the word as tears threaten to escape, but he holds them back and lets Luke pull him down and tangle his hands in his hair. 

He’s  _ perfect _ , despite the looks his parents gave him, despite the Bible, despite everything telling him he’s less than. He’s perfect to Luke, he’s pretty and he’s perfect, and that warms him more than the sun streaming through the windows.

  
  


The cheer from the morning lasts him through the day, even when he has to ask Bobby to loan him some sweatpants, even as Reggie asks him why he’s wearing Luke’s shirt. 

But as night falls, his unease sets in, and he remembers what happened the night before. His anxiety grows and grows, and even with Luke’s arms around him and the feeling of his heartbeat against his back, he breaks. 

He can’t breathe, he can’t feel, he can barely see as his vision tunnels and he desperately crawls off the futon and towards the window. It doesn’t open, but he collapses in front of it anyway, grabbing the cross around his neck and whispering under his breath frantically, praying for forgiveness for an unknown sin like he has so many times before. Praying for his breath back, for his chest to stop hurting, for this punishment to end. 

“Alex,” Luke calls sleepily. “Come back to sleep.” 

He sobs, just once, and his hand falls away from his necklace and to the ground, holding him up as his body slumps further. 

Luke says something he can’t make out, and Alex feels strong arms wrapping around him, holding him up, and he slumps against Luke’s chest, Our Father’s tumbling out of him uncontrollably, and Luke doesn’t let him go. 

  
  
  


They don’t talk about it the next day. Luke tries, but Alex doesn’t let him- he’s mortified that Luke saw him like that. He doesn’t need to know why. But the day after, when he hasn’t slept and his eyes are bloodshot and dried out, he sits in front of the whole band and explains it.

“I told my parents. I told them that I’m gay.” He slouches in a chair, staring at the floor, his hands patting a rhythm on his knees. “It didn’t go well.” His hair falls in his face, and his hands pat faster, remembering what happened.

His father shaking his head, his mother telling him that he needs to keep this a secret, the shame in their eyes as Alex tried to explain that he wasn’t any different, he was the same person. The disbelief in their eyes. The anger. 

Luke kneels in front of him, brushes the hair out of his face, and pulls him into a hug, holding him there until his hands stop moving and he sobs into Luke’s hoodie. “It’s going to be okay,” Luke murmurs in his ear, repeating the words Alex had said to him the night he’d run away. “We’ll get through this.” 

  
  
  


He goes back home the day after, despite Luke’s protests and worry. He can’t avoid it. His parents sit him down at the kitchen table, and after berating him for running off, expressing their worry, they drop the bomb.

“We love you no matter what,” his mother says, “and if you’re choosing to live that…  _ lifestyle _ … we will accept you. But not while you live under our roof.” His father just nods. 

Alex can’t decide whether to laugh- last week he’d given his boyfriend a hickey on the couch under his parent’s wedding photos- or sob- his parents have done something that feels worse than if they had just hated him and kicked him out. It’s what he knew was coming- the lies of not judging, of loving sinners, but turning around and slapping him in the face for something he knows in his heart he’s not wrong for. 

But like a good Catholic boy, he turns the other cheek. “Okay,” he says quietly before pushing away from the table and running to his room.

He doesn’t cry, or freak out, or pray. He stands in front of his bathroom mirror and stares at the pendant on his neck. The cross he’s worn so faithfully for years. The symbol of why his parents refuse to accept him.

He unclips the chain, slips the cross off, and slides it into his pocket before putting the chain back on. 

It doesn’t feel like it’s his to wear anymore.

  
  
  


He keeps it in his pocket all the time, even when he can’t bring himself to pray, or go to church, or even take his rosary out of the drawer of his nightstand. It’s the last connection to faith he has.

His mother throws a fit about it. What will people at church think when he stops going? If they see him in public? How will it reflect on her, on the family, on the Callahan name? Alex doesn’t care about what their church friends will think of the Callahan name, and tells his mom as much.

“You should be ashamed,” she tells him before she leaves. “Absolutely ashamed for what you’re putting this family through. Be grateful, Alexander Gabriel- the Lord forgives easier than I do.”

The words sting more than a slap ever could, and his stomach churns. The truth is that he misses having faith, misses his church, his religion- and he  _ hates _ it. How could he miss something that’s hurt him so badly? Hurt his family? 

The guilt is almost too much to bear, and there’s a layer of tension hanging over every interaction with his family, and he wants to pray so badly. Wants God to fix this  _ so badly _ .

But when he kneels next to his bed, his hands clasped together and head bowed, no one answers. He’s just talking to the air.

  
  
  


He doesn’t say anything to his friends about what happened with his parents, just that they talked it out and that they love him. He doesn’t say anything about taking off the cross, and no one notices at first- except Luke, who notices every time Alex goes to rub the cross before letting his hand fall. No one questions it when he shows up at the studio Sunday mornings. They leave him be, and it’s a welcome relief to the constant questions at home. He wouldn’t know how to describe what he’s going through to them.

Luke buys him what was probably meant to be a replacement- it’s a bracelet, made of cord and the colors of the rainbow- and he almost breaks down. It’s not quite a replacement, not for his necklace and everything it represented for him, but it helps. It represents something new, something different, about how much his friends love him and the support he gets from them, and it’s just as good. Alex wraps Luke in a hug and swears he’ll never take it off.

  
  
  


Alex tells Luke he loves him in the middle of the night, when the light is blue and Luke’s eyes turn silver, and it feels like it’s the real start of his life. Nothing is more real than what they have, even when it’s hidden everywhere outside of the studio, even though it’s just whispered love confessions and making out in the backseats of cars. 

He never knew romance could be like this, never knew that his love for Luke could be both so freeing and so closed off. It’s stifling him, keeping it contained in these moments of solitude, the need for peace choking him. But he accepts it. He loves it. 

It’s safe.

  
  
  


But Luke is pulling away. He still acts the part of doting boyfriend, but it’s just that- an act. He’s colder, more aloof, farther away than he’s ever been. It feels like a bubble is about to burst, and Alex just wants to hold everything together, stop pushing air into it before it explodes and hurts them both. 

Well, before it hurts him. 

Luke doesn’t seem like he would mind if their bubble burst. And that hurts more than anything. 

  
  
  


Alex pops the bubble. “Luke, you know you’re my best friend, right?” he says quietly. They’re sitting in his car, pulled over on a dark road near the studio, and he feels like he’s going to explode.

“Yeah. And you’re mine,” Luke responds, his voice wary and confused.

“And I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“But I don’t love you like  _ that. _ ” Alex sighs, and Luke looks like he’s been stabbed, not expecting this sudden ending at all. It’s a lie, the worst he’s ever told, and his heart is screaming for him to stop while his brain, knowing this is the only way to keep himself from hurting more than he already does, urges him to keep talking, twist the knife deeper into the boy loves. “And, God, I’m sorry about it. But I just don’t anymore.”

“No, it’s…. It’s okay. I get it.” Luke lets go of his hand. “Something changed. It’s okay.”

Alex takes a deep breath. “Okay. Well. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He starts to twist his bracelet around his wrist. There’s a strange mix of emotions- a sick pleasure at being the heartbreaker in this relationship, and a crashing wave of agony at knowing the heart he broke was his own. 

“Yeah,” Luke mumbles, looking out his window.

Alex drives them back to the studio in silence, Luke's face an awful combination of betrayal and relief, and Alex can’t speak. not yet. Luke doesn’t say goodbye, and Alex doesn’t say anything to him at all. Just watches as Luke hops the fence and goes inside. 

He drives, as any sane person does after breaking up with someone they still love, to the beach, Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac playing loudly. When the song ends, he clicks a button and starts it over. 

The ocean is dark, cruel black waves crashing on the rocks and the shards of moonlight like a knife. He stares for a moment, and then he screams. it doesn’t make him feel better, but his heart stops breaking for a minute as he lets his voice go hoarse. Eventually, he stops, Stevie Nicks still crooning in the background but muffled by the ringing in his ears, and watches the night taunt him with thoughts of what he’s lost.

  
  
  


It’s an odd shift, going from years of friendship to love then snapping back to friendship, especially when their friendship has always been filled with casual touching. Changing that now might cause a rift they can’t get over.

So Alex lets it happen- the hugging, the arms over shoulders, the back rubs when he’s anxious. He lets it happen.

Except for holding hands. That's not something he lets happen anymore. 

It’s not right.

But even without that, being friends is constricting. Not in the way loving him in secret was- a tie done just a little too tight, doing no harm other than shortening his breath. This is a noose, a death sentence, the tightness of his throat making it impossible to say more than five words to Luke without feeling dizzy.

It’s impossible to get over him when he still acts like he did when they were together, but it’ll be impossible to carry on if he stops. Alex doesn’t know which one is worse.

  
  
  


He holds back his jealousy that night at the Orpheum as Luke swings his arm over Bobby’s shoulders. Holds it back as he flirts with the waitress. Keeps it buried until they take that fatal bite of street dogs. 

Reggie is the first to go. 

Alex tries to hold on as long as he can, stretching his fingers out to Luke in a desperate plea for help, even as Luke’s eyes slide shut. 

Luke’s gone next.

Alex lets out a feeble cry as his vision goes dark at the edges, expecting his life to flash before his eyes.

It’s a version of his life alright- his life with Luke, smiling and laughing and kissing and holding each other.

He lets out one last sob as an image of Luke the night they kissed for the first time passes before him, and his vision goes black.

  
  
  
  


He’s not in Heaven, and it doesn’t seem like Hell either- it’s just dark and empty except for him. He hasn’t stopped crying, even when he stopped breathing, and he can’t hear anyone else with him. He lets go, lets himself sob and scream and breakdown. This is something worse than Hell. He’s alone in the dark and all he wants to know is  _ why, God, why? _

He fumbles in his pockets for the cross he never took out, gripping it tight and praying for this to end, apologizing over and over and begging forgiveness.

He’s met with silence.

He wishes more than anything that Luke was with him, rubbing his back or letting him collapse into his arms. 

But it’s just him.

  
  
  


It feels like it was forever. Reggie says it was just an hour.

The girl in front of them says it was 25 years. 

Alex doesn’t know what part hurts the most- the fact that it’s been so long, but feels like just yesterday, or that he wasn’t alone in there, that his friends were there with him but didn’t comfort him.  _ Luke  _ didn't comfort him. 

It’s not like he has to do that anymore- they broke up. And it was Alex who did the actual breakup. Why would he comfort him?

But he keeps touching him- putting his arm around Alex’s shoulder and patting him on the back, and he doesn’t have to do that either. 

  
  
  


He goes off on his own, walking down Broadway in a feeble attempt to shake the feeling of Luke’s hand on his back and the memories that feeling brings back. Instead, he almost dies a second time.

A skateboarder slams right into him. A very _ cute _ skateboarder, with long dark hair and a brilliant smile, and as they talk, every thought of Luke swims out of Alex’s head.

His name is Willie, and he calls Alex “Hot Dog.” 

Luke called him honey.

He might prefer Hot Dog.

  
  
  


He’s nervous about introducing Luke and Willie, but they get along fine, and even later, at the Hollywood Ghost Club, everyone is cool. 

Well, everyone but Alex, who fumbles over his words and makes himself look like a fool in front of Willie, but no one comments on it- except Luke. 

“Oh, you got a crush on Willie!” he says with a smile as soon as WIllie’s walked away.

Alex instantly flushes. “What? No. No, man, no. We're just…”

“Alex,” he interrupts, “I'm happy for you.”

The noose around his neck loosens. 

  
  
  


He finds himself praying again- when Julie won’t talk to them, when the stabbing pains in his chest become unbearable, when Willie starts pulling away- and while he still feels like he’s talking to the air, he can’t help but feel like this is part of his unfinished business. His loss of faith wasn’t a complete loss. He still carries his cross with him, he still prays the rosary even though he no longer has one, he even attends a few church services, surprised when he doesn’t burn up when he steps foot on holy ground. 

He asks Julie about the new Pope and how things have changed. She tells him that Pope Francis is okay with gay people- she even tells him that he’s okay with gay people in civil unions. “It’s a big step,” she says. “Hopefully that will make people more tolerant.”

It’s shocking, to say the least. In 1995, the first thing he wanted was to take his boyfriend on a date and not be scared, and now, he could have married a man- and the Pope would have approved. 

It helps him stop talking to air and  _ start  _ talking to God again, who still doesn't answer back, but He’s listening now. He was always listening.

One day, he slides the cross back on his chain, and something in his heart calms down, peaceful at last.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: nickr0b  
> tumblr: zcnmasters  
> green day's interview with the advocate: https://green-day-quotes.tumblr.com/post/164677346289/billie-joe-armstrongs-full-interview-with-the  
> 'homophobic' sections of the bible and why they actually aren't: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/0146107915577097#_i1


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